


Mine Is The Morning

by Topaz_Eyes



Series: X Company: Last Night / Last Morning In Paris [2]
Category: X Company
Genre: M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Episode tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: Forty-five minutes before they have to get moving.  That’s enough time for something, isn’t it?





	Mine Is The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Follows directly on from [Last Night In Paris](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10393029). Pre-episode tag to S3E4 “Promises,” no real spoilers. Title poached from “Morning Has Broken” (1931), lyrics by Eleanor Farjeon.

Harry wakes up an hour before sunrise, just as the first sign of daylight tints the Paris sky.

He stretches carefully, tries not to disturb Neil sleeping beside him. It’s a tight fit for two on the narrow bed; they’re either cramped up at the edges of the mattress or piled on top of each other in the middle. Harry’s not sure how he managed to get any restful sleep, but he feels good. Happy. If a bit warm due to the combined heat of their bodies. Sometime during the night, the covers had pushed down around their hips, but Neil’s a freaking furnace.

Harry checks his watch, squinting in the low light: six o’clock. The city curfew lifts at seven-thirty. They meet their forger at eight to drop off their photos; it’s a brisk fifteen-minute walk from the safe house. Allow about an hour to wash, dress, eat, and gather their things.

That leaves about forty-five minutes before they have to get moving.

That’s enough time for something, isn’t it? He palms his half-erect cock under the sheets.

He debates waking Neil up, but decides against it. He shouldn’t be greedy. Their deal had only been for last night. Even though he has hopes for this morning too, he doesn’t want to push his luck. Sleep is a precious commodity. He can’t remember the last time he had the entire night to rest. And he’s seen Neil when he’s sleep-deprived for too long. Basic survival dictates to stay out of his way.

An entire night to rest, and, well –

After the false start, last night had been better than he imagined. Not how he expected his first time would go, for many reasons, but it had been amazing in its own right.

Is there some kind of etiquette, he wonders, some rules for the morning after? This was one thing he didn’t consider. Should he just assume nothing will happen, rise now, go back to his room? Or should he wait until Neil wakes before he leaves? Either way, will they talk about last night at all? Or do they go on as usual, pretend it never happened?

Will anyone be able to tell he’s had sex just by looking at him?

The bed springs creak in protest as Neil stirs. He shifts onto his side and mumbles something unintelligible. Then he forces his eyes open and promptly shies away from the rising light.

“Morning,” Harry says, bright and cheerful.

Still half-asleep, Neil blinks a slow blink as he processes the situation. “What time is it?” he says as he rubs at one bleary eye.

Harry peers at his watch dial again. “Five after six.” Down to forty minutes left to spend together. If they’re going to do anything, they’ll have to start now.

One thing Harry doesn’t feel, oddly enough, is awkward. He supposes that’s what happens when you wake up naked beside your best friend, after you’ve spent half the night holding his dick in your hand. Any idea of modesty goes out the window. Which – aren’t sentences he ever thought he’d compose in his lifetime. He huffs at that, smiles to himself.

He earns an exasperated sigh and a raised eyebrow in response. “Care to enlighten me on what’s so funny?”

“Just thinking,” Harry says. Neil continues to glare at him, but Harry doesn’t elaborate.

Neil’s not awkward either. He just seems his usual annoyed-amused self, as if waking up naked with Harry in his bed beside him happens every day. So they’ve already moved beyond the embarrassment stage, and Harry is thankful. (It’s so strange, how part of him thinks he could really, really enjoy waking up beside Neil every day, too. But he knows he can’t afford to think like that. He tries to banish that thought from his mind.)

Neil gives up waiting for a reply and shakes his head. “What time do we meet our forger?”

“Eight.”

Neil frowns at him. “Then what the hell are you doing awake this early? Don’t need to be up til seven.”

Harry licks his lips, tries to find words. “I’ve always been an early riser?” Immediately he wants to smack himself for the ridiculous double entendre. There’s no way Neil will let that one go.

Which of course, he doesn’t. Fully awake now, he glances down Harry’s body and smirks at his now obvious erection. “Early riser. That’s one way to put it,” he says, no mistaking the glee in his voice. “Commando Harry. Stands on guard for thee. Locked and loaded at the ready.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” But Harry chuckles as he says it.

Neil shrugs. “Been called worse.” His voice drops into that timbre that vibrates through Harry, sends more blood rushing downwards. “Real question is, Harry, what do you want to do about it?”

Yes yes yes they’re going to do it again. Harry’s breath quickens with anticipation. He turns on his side so they face each other. He’s not quite sure what he wants this morning, not quite sure how to ask. What he ends up doing is sliding his palm down Neil’s chest and belly to rest on his dick. The parallel from last night doesn’t escape him. Harry’s rewarded when Neil’s breath hitches and he cants forward slightly.

“Something like this?” Harry says, and he breaches the final inch of space between them to kiss Neil full on the lips.

“Fine by me,” Neil murmurs when Harry draws back for air. He pulls him close and eases his way into Harry’s mouth.

Harry swings a leg over him to press even closer. They rock back and forth in an easy rhythm: nothing urgent, rather just to enjoy each other, to learn how they fit together. They trade sweet, unhurried kisses, tongues gliding like silk; Neil’s hands are broad and gentle everywhere on his body. More accustomed to his wry, gruff demeanour, Harry’s not fully used yet to this openly affectionate side of Neil, but he revels in it. He returns each caress in kind, without the finesse perhaps but with just as much feeling.

A few minutes later, Neil ends the kiss, presses his forehead to Harry’s with a soft exhale. “Where are we now?”

Harry checks his watch. “Six fifteen.” Thirty minutes isn’t very long to do anything, he thinks. Once they leave Paris, there’s no telling when or where (or if) they’ll find another chance to be together like this. Harry blinks when he realizes just how much he wants another chance to happen. To keep happening. Disappointment threatens to settle in.

“More than enough time,” Neil says as if hearing his thoughts. He flicks his gaze rapidly between Harry’s mouth and lower as he studies him.

“For what?”

A wicked grin crosses Neil’s face. “On your back, spread your legs. You’ll see in a bit.”

Harry obeys, his cock surging again in response to the low rumble of Neil’s voice. Neil pushes the covers all the way down, manoeuvres himself between Harry’s legs and settles in. He leans down and kisses him, hard and demanding, until Harry’s sure all his blood has gone south and he’s dizzy with it. Neil pulls back, his eyes hooded with that heated gaze in which Harry promptly loses himself.

He slowly, slowly trails his lips down Harry’s neck, to the hollow of his throat; detours to his right shoulder to drop a feather-light kiss on his knife scar, then to the left side of his chest to mouth the scars there. Harry quivers as evaporation cools his skin.

Neil continues downwards, lips ghosting over Harry’s torso until his chin just brushes the tip of his cock. He stops and nuzzles Harry’s stomach, the dip of his navel. Neil looks up again, then reaches up and clamps one hand firmly over Harry’s mouth.

 _What the hell is he doing?_ Eyes wide, Harry tenses, raises his hands to try to fight Neil off –

Neil takes Harry’s cock into his mouth in one sure fell.

 _Ohmyfuckinggod._ Harry arches and cries out, completely unprepared for the wet warmth engulfing him to the root. His hands drop to his sides; now he gets why Neil covered his mouth. Still, he can’t help the sounds that keep emanating from him, just barely muted behind Neil’s wide palm. He forces himself to quiet down. Neil lets his hand drop.

Harry sinks into a blissful haze, everything focused around the pulsing blood in his cock. Soon he’s squirming with each long, leisurely pull on his shaft, with the flick of Neil’s tongue across the head, as he fondles his sac all the while. And Neil’s enjoying this, Harry thinks in a daze. Not only that, but he’s done this before. There’s no way he hasn’t, it feels too sure, too practised. How the hell does he know how to do this?

Then he decides he doesn’t care. He lifts his head off the pillow, raises himself on his elbows to watch. It’s fucking mesmerizing how Neil slides his lips up and down his cock; he gets even harder if that’s at all possible. Harry’s breathing grows increasingly ragged when Neil laves his shaft, works his way up to the tip to probe his slit, rolls his tongue around the head again.

Harry almost cries when Neil pauses. He pulls back completely to hover just above the head of his cock, his warm, moist breath a curtain teasing over Harry’s groin. Harry scowls at him, increasingly frustrated.

“Come on, Neil,” he begs when the moment drags too long, “why’d you stop?”

Neil smirks over his cock, looks up; their gazes meet and Harry’s breath catches with the sheer naked desire there. How does he _do_ that? How does Neil make him feel like he is the only thing in the world that matters? Then Neil cups his ass cheeks and kneads them gently. He tips Harry’s pelvis up and his cock back inside where Harry needs it to be, picking up the pace.

The maddening throb in Harry’s groin builds until the urge to move freely overwhelms him. “I gotta thrust,” Harry breathes, “let me fuck your mouth. Please.”

Neil’s answering moan jolts all the way up Harry’s spine. He lies back, reaches down, seizes Neil’s head to hold him in place and pumps his hips. Neil cedes control, lips and tongue working to match his increasingly frantic rhythm. Harry slides in and out, the slick friction around his cock hot and tight and glorious. Fuck but this is even _better_ than last night.

It doesn’t take long until his balls tighten with his impending orgasm. He’s going to shoot his load down Neil’s throat if he keeps this up. Maybe he should warn him. “I’m gonna come,” Harry gasps as his thrusts begin to stutter.

Neil doesn’t seem to hear, or if he does, he doesn’t pay attention. He hums around his cock and tightens his lips, draws the hollows of his cheeks in, and pulls right _there_.

Godgodgodgod _god_ Harry’s whole body clenches in electric pleasure. He can’t hold back anymore: he draws his lips tight, groans in release with the first jet of climax. He bucks upwards with each pulse like star bursts behind his tightly-closed eyes. And fuckfuck _fuck_ but Neil holds on, swallows every drop of come from him until Harry’s emptied himself completely and he sinks back, drained.

The spasms take their time to die down, in part because Neil keeps licking him, mouthing him, spreading out the aching bliss to the last possible minute. Harry twitches and whimpers with each one, loath to feel them end. He’s shaking when they finally resolve and his cock softens. It’s only then he realizes in his haze, Neil stayed right through.

Neil pulls off, releasing Harry’s cock with a very slow, very wet plop. He climbs to his knees between Harry’s legs; he’s aroused now, hard enough to be straining. Jesus but Neil was getting off on sucking his cock. Harry feels that wild thrill of accomplishment again.

“Come closer,” Harry says, “straddle me.”

Neil clambers up to straddle his hips; Harry flexes his legs for support. He spits on his hand, reaches out and closes his palm around Neil’s already-beading dick. “I want to watch you come,” Harry murmurs.

Neil makes a choked sound in his throat at that. Harry slides his hand up and down, tries to replicate the rhythm, the twists and the flicks Neil used with him last night. Within minutes Neil’s arching into Harry’s fist, bearing down with his hands clenching his thighs. Sweat glistens on his forehead; fine drops slide down the hollow of his neck. Harry gazes openly in appreciation: it’s _brilliant_ to see Neil so raw and open at his mercy like this. He burns the image in his mind; if they’re never going to do this again, at least Harry wants this memory to keep.

Neil’s already so so close, but Harry doesn’t know how he’s going to finish him off until he does it. Just to see what it feels like, he thinks. He raises himself on his free elbow, catches Neil’s eye.

“Hurry up, you bastard, I can’t – ” Neil whispers, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Oh God, Neil’s _begging_ for release. Harry leans forward and closes his mouth around the head of Neil’s dick; sucks on it gently as his grip slides over his shaft.

Neil jerks up and stills with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth. He reaches down blindly, yanks himself out of Harry’s mouth. Almost immediately he arches and comes over Harry’s throat and chin.

Harry strokes him through his orgasm, staring at him all the while. He wants to remember this moment too, Neil caught in the throes of climax: a red flush blooming over his chest, his eyelids fluttering with each pulse, the mossy scent of sex swirling around them.

When it’s over, Neil slumps a bit with his head bowed, working to regain control. Harry releases him, takes stock; yeah, he’s a bit messy again, especially his hand. Curious, Harry raises it to his mouth, swipes it with his tongue. Slick and salt-bleach-sweet, it tastes neither pleasant nor unpleasant. He glances at Neil, who’s watching him with his lips parted, a stunned look on his face.

After he returns to his senses, Neil twists around, reaches for a corner of the sheet up to wipe himself and Harry down. He then crawls off, moves up to lay on his stomach, dropping half beside and half on top of Harry with a long exhale. He drapes an arm across his chest. “Bloody hell, I never expected that,” he says, scrunching his fingers through Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m a fast learner,” Harry says. His own fingers ruffle idly through Neil’s curls.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.”

“So where – how did you learn to– ?” Harry stammers, not quite knowing how to phrase the question.

“Does it matter?” Neil says.

“Not right now,” Harry replies. Because it doesn’t, not when he feels completely relaxed like this. He can always ask Neil later, when he shows him how to do it properly. And he wonders what else he’ll be in for if they keep this up.

“So what did you think?” Neil asks. “Did you get what you wanted this morning?”

Harry breaks into a wide grin. “Oh, yeah,” he replies, “and then some.”

Neil snorts in acknowledgement, adjusts into a more comfortable position on Harry’s shoulder.

“You know, I guess swallowing makes cleanup a lot easier,” Harry muses after a bit, “but do you actually kiss people with that mouth after?”

“What of it?” Neil glares at him with that annoyed-amused look again. “It’s not dirty or anything. It’s only jizz.”

And as if to prove it, Neil raises himself up and kisses him, deep and thorough. Harry tastes the remnants of himself on Neil’s tongue. That’s something else he never imagined either, discovering what sex tastes like. He can’t wait to do it again –

Yeah, he’s pretty much done for. This is what he wants most of all. To continue whatever this is between them. As long as Neil’s willing. As long as he can.

They fall into a comfortable silence. God, but this is nice, Harry thinks, simply lying here tangled like this. The post-sex bliss might very well be his favourite part. Harry surreptitiously checks his watch. Six-forty. He sighs; only five minutes left to laze together before their day has to begin.

“Twenty minutes,” Neil says, again as if reading his mind. “Shouldn’t take you more than forty-five to get ready.”

Harry’s not going to argue with that logic. His legs feel too wobbly to stand anyway. And he doesn’t want to lose the solid comfort of Neil’s body resting against him yet.

“So what happens now?” Harry asks a couple minutes later, gesturing between them.

“That’s up to you,” Neil says after a brief pause. “I thought last night was supposed to be one-time only.”

“It was,” Harry says.

“Then what was this morning?”

Harry shrugs and flashes a not-so-innocent grin. “I guess I wanted more practice.”

Neil smirks, with a hint of a leer thrown in for good measure. “Yeah, I reckon you did.”

“Shut up.” Harry punches Neil’s shoulder. “Wasn’t just me.” Neil chuckles at that, and Harry joins in. He feels amazing, light, even carefree. It’s going to be a great day.

“And – I want to keep going,” Harry admits when the mirth dies down.

Neil raises an eyebrow. “With the shagging?”

“Yeah. If – you don’t mind. I mean – ” Harry knows he’s babbling, but he can’t find the right words.

“‘If I don’t mind?’ Jesus, are all you fucking Canadians so fucking polite about asking for a fucking fuck?”

Oh for Pete’s sake. Harry rolls his eyes. “You know, when you put it that way – fuck yeah, this fucking Canadian wants to keep fucking you, you fucking fuckhead,” he retorts.

They both explode into laughter, quickly muffled into shoulder and fist in case the rest of the team is up and about.

“Oh my God,” Harry gasps presently. His sides actually hurt from trying to control the laughs.

“Never thought you had that comeback in you, either,” Neil says, almost wheezing.

“Well now you know better.”

After another minute or so, the laughter dies down and Neil’s face sobers. He raises himself on one elbow, cups Harry’s jaw, and caresses his cheek with his thumb, so gentle that something in Harry’s chest aches with it. “You know that what we’re doing isn’t considered – ”

Harry meets his gaze and nods. “I know.”

“It’s not something you discuss with anyone else. Ever. Doesn’t matter who asks, you deny it. You deny everything. No matter what. For your own safety, you protect yourself first.”

“I understand.”

“Promise me, Harry. I can’t have you risking – ”

Harry stares at him, a little unnerved by the undercurrent in Neil’s voice. “I promise.”

Neil peers at him a moment, as if weighing Harry’s reply; then, as if satisfied, he continues, his voice less intense. “And, afraid to say it, but this morning’s gonna have to do you awhile. Don’t know when it’ll be safe enough for us to have another go like this.”

Harry sighs. “That’s okay. I kinda figured that. But – can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How – when did you know about liking men too? Was it with Geordie?”

Neil looks up at him with a slight frown and shakes his head. “You ask too many bloody questions, is your problem,” he says. “Let’s save those for next time, yeah?”

Harry shrugs his free shoulder playfully. “I guess you’re right. I don’t need to know everything on our first date.” He smirks at the expression on Neil’s face. He’s heard enough of Neil’s wisecracks about his age to last a lifetime so turnabout’s fair play.

“I suppose ‘our second date’ means you’ll want dinner at a proper restaurant and roses, too,” Neil says with an exaggerated sigh.

“Keep being a jerk about it and I’ll insist,” Harry says. He grins again at catching Neil off-guard a second time. This is too much fun. “I’ll settle for a movie and popcorn.”

Neil starts to say something, appears to think better of it, and lies back down against him. The sun rises in earnest as their remaining minutes tick away; Harry soaks up as much of their quiet companionship as he can. He has no clue what they’ll be doing six hours from now, let alone six days from now. Whatever happens, he’s determined to make this last bit of time together count, to see them both through.

When the room is almost flooded with sunlight, Harry checks his watch for the final time. One minute to seven. “I guess this is it,” Harry says. “Time to get up.”

They separate reluctantly, and Harry climbs out of bed; he dons his glasses, pulls on his discarded boxers to cross the hall to his room. “First to the kitchen puts on the kettle,” he adds when he reaches the door.

“So you like movies.”

Harry turns at the sound of Neil’s voice; Neil’s sitting on the edge of the bed, a ball of clothes gathered in his arms. “My oldest brother was an usher at Loews Yonge Street Theatre back home,” Harry says. “He’d get us free Saturday matinee tickets.”

“That’s convenient. That means you’ve seen every movie out there.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“I know what we’re talking about this morning, then.”

Harry grins. Knowing Neil, there will probably be an argument about it too, he thinks. And he couldn’t be happier.


End file.
